Close Look at Death
by LittleGlassEyes
Summary: ONESHOT. Mary Weather is privy to an intimate exchange between Cain and Riffael. drabble.


**WARNING: rating still being debated. Critiquing suggested this rating but I'm nervous and do not want to offend. Keep in mind the particular manga this comes from whilst reading, as I suppose the targeted age group is the** same.

This one is just a small oneshot, looking into an intimate (not in _that_ way, dearie!) exchange between Cain and Riff, to which Mary Weather bears witness. Post White Rabbit! I really did quite like Victoria, in some sense similar to morbid curiosity.

_"This is not a suicide letter, I just want to get a real close look at death__."_  
_-William Control  
_  
**-x-**

In one of the older wings of the house, in a rather dusty and seemingly unused study there was a large ebony display cabinet, inlaid with extravagant ivory detail. This display contained many curiosities, varying from butterfly displays to expelled animal fetuses. It was not uncommon among the gentry to collect such curios, and to pursue an interest in the obscure and often occult.

This particular cabinet however had been personally arranged by a boy of twelve, which was most unusual.

In this cabinet there was a larger empty storage compartment, with a matching ivory lock. This particular place was a favorite hiding spot for a certain young lady of the house.

She had wondered upon this room in a game of hide and seek with Gaspard, her imaginary companion. A seemingly fitting place to hide as it contained not only this glorious cabinet. It also contained shelves upon shelves of books, and a chesterfield upon which she would sit and read them.

She had much time for these things, you see, as Gaspard, being imaginary, was not very good at hide and seek.

This room became somewhat of a safehold for her, and in all her visits she would study the curios of the display. "My, what a strange wonderland," she would suppose to herself. "Only the oddest of imaginations could conjure such a thing," she said, observing a large preserved insect, which seemed to sit astride a lizard skeleton. And indeed, a boy of the oddest imaginations did orchestrate it.

He began collecting these things as a young child, the objects growing more grotesque and dark as he aged. This room was also his sanctuary.

Strangely, however, the two never crossed paths.

Until one day, at the age of around nine, Mary Weather heard footsteps as she studied the miniature taxidermy society. Quickly, for she was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of trespass, she stuffed herself into the cabinet. She pressed her blue eyes to the lock and watched as the door handle twisted round, and the bolt clicked.

She relaxed, for just a moment, as she saw her dearest brother walk in. She was about to exit when she noticed he was followed by Riff, who carried a large leather luggage.

"- assure you, it was a complete accident, opening that grave. So why waste such a bountiful gift from the almighty heavens?" her brother continued with an air of laisser-faire. He fell backwards –somehow gracefully- upon the blue chesterfield, and rested his chin upon his hand. His lips curled upwards in a devilish smile and he chuckled, "Go on, open it. I think you'll be most pleased with the condition."

"It is not the condition of the object, rather its attainment that worries me," the manservant responded, as he calmly unbuckled the case.

In a fluid motion, Cain was upon his feet and snatching the case, a look of vexation gracing his features. His countenance was that of an avenging angel, with such graceful anger. "Can you not allow me my pleasures?" he berated harshly. Before Riff could respond, the box was flung open, and from it Cain lifted with a triumphant smile a large bell jar.

The contents of this jar caused Mary Weather's breath to catch in her throat.

A young woman's eyes encased in her sockets, surrounded by her face upon her head but below the neck no body to be seen, stared outwards at Mary Weather. The, her, head floated suspended in a slightly murky liquid, no doubt embalming fluid of one sort or another.  
Her expression was one of outright horror, her mouth agasp. If it were not for the eyes, so dead and containing no sparks of life, one could say if the jar were lifted slightly, one would no doubt hear her dying scream still.

Mary Weather stared, entranced by the eyes which stared back at her, unable to look away, though she knew she should.

"It's a shame Victoria was never beautiful in her living actions," Cain explained to Riff, gesturing to the jar now placed carefully on an end table. "She was far too obnoxious. Is it ironic her most alluring expression was as the light left her eyes? Perhaps I could have them glazed, to reproduce the living animation. She would be wonderful," he wondered aloud to himself, arms crossed as he studied his find.

"I think perhaps such a pursuit might draw attention to her desecrated grave, Sir," Mary Weather could hear Riff above her as he rearranged space in the cabinet to allow for the head.

Cain chuckled. "Not if you know the right people."

"I sometimes worry at the company you keep."

"Worry not for the others but yourself," Cain said, turning around with that devilish smile, and a spark in his eyes no glaze could ever recreate. He wandered toward Riff with slow, purposeful steps till he was mere inches away. "Someday, Riff, it'll be your head in my display," he whispered, barely audible, and yet his voice filled the room with a hushed tension, "your eyes will be my centre piece, your expression in the throes of death, my central focus." His fingertips brushed against Riff's cheek. His intense gaze was unwavering. "You will be perfect."

To this, Riff turned his head slightly and kissed Cain's palm. "I would lay my life down right now, and surrender my flesh to you, if it would bring you content."

A calm silence lay upon the pair as Riff pressed his lips to Cain's hand, and Cain's devilish eyes seemed to hold emotion more akin to a lover than an executioner. This moment seemed to last forever, although it was no more than a few seconds.

Cain withdrew his hand, but stepped slightly closer, fixing Riff with a mischievous glare, and laughing. "_Utterly absurd_. Who will tie my shoe laces?" He again flung himself upon the chesterfield, and watched Riff go about the rest of the arrangement whilst Cain directed him. Riff smiled gently the entire time, despite Cain's impatient directions.  
As they left the room, after a short discussion on what to do with Victoria, or Madame Peur, as Cain named the 'piece' and her dead eyes, Riff held the door open for Cain, who took a last look at his display then said, almost tenderly, "I'm afraid you'll have to wait before you can take your rightful place there. I intend to drag you to hell with me."

Mary Weather never again returned to that room. On that day, Mary Weather felt she was privy to a strangely intimate moment, in the discussion of decapitation. From that point it was not the eyes of the young lady she had never met that haunted her, but the image of Cain and Riff in a dying embrace.

If only such a beautiful thing were possible.

**-x-**

Thankyou again for reading! Mar.


End file.
